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CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

T ristan stared out the tower window, trying to will the noonday sun to creep across the sky faster.

If the tiny band of soldiers in this tower—himself, Cassandra, Silas, Ronin, and Mireille—could hold out until Cael arrived with the dragon…

It had been forty-eight hours since Tristan had given Cael the dragon’s name. How many more hours would his friend need?

Overnight, a few Brethren had tried to breach their door, but they’d been chased away by the massive double-headed axe Cassandra had picked up downstairs. Tristan had used it to slice off a few hands, smash a few shins, lop off a head. After that, the Brethren had stopped trying to break through their barricade.

Wormwood—as arrogant and slimy as ever—had stopped by this morning before dawn.

“You’re going to have to come out of there eventually,” the weasel bi-form had crooned through the door. “You have no food, no water. And you may have thought you were clever, barricading yourself within a room with a single entry point. But that also means you have only one exit point. Where you will find us waiting as soon as starvation forces you out. Or you could take your chances out the window. But know that we also have Brethren armed with bows and arrows in the courtyard and on the east wall. I’m sure they’d love to pick you off one by one should you attempt to scale down the tower. Not sure you all could manage such a thing, anyway. One of you is quite injured, yes?”

Tristan hadn’t bothered answering.

That had been an hour ago, before Tristan had encouraged Cassandra to tuck up into a corner to get some rest. She’d cocooned her wings around her body with only her head poking through her feathers. Silas was snoring gently against the stone wall beside her.

Tristan was too antsy to sleep. Hence why he’d been pacing by the window.

Wormwood hadn’t been lying; Tristan could spy the archers in the east tower windows, plus down in the yard and along the walls. He could also hear Brethren guards shuffling around on the stairs. He hadn’t spied the Koenig yet. Wondered what the male was doing while Wormwood and his Brethren were executing this siege.

Tristan sighed, then crossed the room to sit down next to Ronin. Mireille had fallen asleep with her head in Ronin’s lap, and he was brushing tattooed fingers through her hair. She stirred when Tristan plopped down, and Ronin checked the makeshift bandage around her neck, torn from one of his shirt sleeves.

“How is she?” Tristan asked. “Is it healing?”

“It was much deeper than any of my wounds,” Ronin whispered. “It’s starting to heal, but it will likely take another day or so. And she needs to get some food into her system. Her body can’t help without fuel. So, if you have any grand plans to take a stand against these assholes, we should probably do that soon.”

“She means that much to you?”

“Too much,” Ronin grumbled. “More than I’d like to admit.” He leaned his head back against the stone. “But I fucked it all up.”

“How?”

“I should have done something— anything —over the years to get her out of this place. I just… I left her in here.” He turned to Tristan, his mottled blue-and-yellow eye bright with anguish. “For centuries, Tristan. I should have gotten myself thrown in here sooner. Could’ve been here to watch over her. Could have protected her. I could have?—”

“A very wise male once told me that if we spend too much time fretting over the choices we made in the past, we’ll never move forward. She’s forgiven you, has she not?”

“Yeah, but only because she thought she deserved to be in here. Only because she’s been punishing herself for this.” He gestured to his eyepatch.

Tristan cocked his head. “And have you not been punishing yourself also? Atoning for your sins against the humans—including her father—by joining the Teles Chrysos? You’ve spent the past two hundred years fighting for a world where Mireille’s half-human heritage won’t make her a second-class citizen. A world where her father might not have been killed in the first place.”

“I guess,” Ronin said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If we get out of here?—”

“ When we get out of here.”

“—I’m going to make it up to her. All that time we lost. Restore our friendship and do this the right way.” Ronin stroked a hand down Mireille’s coppery waves, and she nuzzled in closer. “Enough about my shit. How are you doing? We haven’t had a chance to talk since you arrived. I can’t imagine Ione is pleased that you’re here.”

“She’s not,” Tristan said, without an ounce of guilt. “But as soon as Trophonios told me how to get through the wards, there was only one place in the world I wanted to be.”

Tristan looked toward Cassandra, sleeping peacefully within her feathers, her dark lashes kissing her cheeks and her full lips parted.

Here. Here was where he was supposed to be. With her. Always. Anywhere.

He rested his head against the rough stone, listening to the soft breathing around him. Ronin’s own joined the sleepy symphony seconds later.

Tristan had no idea how long he sat there savoring the peace and quiet and watching the sun move across the floor.

He’d nearly slipped into slumber himself when a shrill voice called out from the other tower. He looked out the window, and his stomach plummeted.

Ronin ambled up beside him, rubbing the sleep from his eye and readjusting his patch. “What’s going on? What does that mean?”

Tristan glanced at Cassandra, a grimace pulling down his lips as she stirred, waking. He swiveled his gaze back out the window.

“It means we’re well and truly fucked.”

“I will not let him do this,” Cassandra said, standing by the tower window next to Tristan.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Tristan grumbled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Mireille and Silas were awake now, too, the former allowing Ronin to check beneath the bandage on her neck. The wound still looked red and angry, but it wasn’t infected, thank the High Gods.

Tristan turned Cassandra from the window, then brought his face level with hers. She hated the fear and worry crawling through his honey-brown eyes. Would do anything to erase it.

Just not what he was about to ask her to do.

“He’s using them as bait, Cass.” Tristan’s voice wobbled. “Don’t fall for it. Cael is coming. With Signys. And as soon as those wards are down, you, me, and Silas will all have our wind back.”

“And I’ll have my fire.” Mireille pushed up from the floor.

Cassandra knew they were right. She knew it.

But a cry outside turned her attention back to Ana, who was trembling upon the ledge of an open window in the east tower. The old woman whimpered as a gust of wind billowed the skirt of her filthy dress.

Wormwood smiled wickedly behind her. “Don’t make me do it! If this woman dies, her blood is on your hands. The Koenig is waiting in the throne room. You’re late for your appeal.”

Wormwood tightened his grip on Ana’s neck, and she grappled for his hands. Her rheumy, terrified eyes caught Cassandra’s across the expanse.

“Please,” Ana rasped. “ Please . I was wrong. I don’t want to die in here.”

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, tears coating her lower lashes.

“Clock’s ticking!” Wormwood crooned. “And we have plenty more humans in here if you keep dragging your feet.”

Cassandra peeled her attention from the window, then turned toward the others. Tristan’s expression was pained, Mireille’s determined, Ronin’s furious, and Silas’s resigned.

“I’m going to do this,” Cassandra declared. “It’s been my destiny since I arrived. To fight him.”

“Yeah, but you were supposed to have help .” Mireille winced as Ronin helped her to her feet. “Ronin and I were supposed to fight alongside you.”

“Well, it seems the Koenig is changing the plan.”

“What are you doing in there, challenger Fortin?” Wormwood’s slithery voice called out, followed by Ana’s panicked yelp.

Cassandra cupped Tristan’s face. “I just need to stay alive until Cael arrives. I don’t have to beat the Koenig. I just have to survive .”

Tristan grimaced. “We have no idea when that will be. How long do you think you’ll be able to hold out?”

Cassandra squared her shoulders, flaring her wings. “I’ll?—”

A scream pierced the air, followed by a crunching, squelching, splat.

She rushed to the window, and looked down upon Ana’s frail body, broken apart on the stone.

Hatred blazed through her veins, blowing apart her grief, as she glared at Wormwood.

Another human life wasted, crunched beneath the boot of an indifferent Fae master. This could not stand. Would not stand.

“Oops.” The weasel bi-form shrugged, then leaned out of the tower and shook his head. “I think she slipped. Better go get ano?—”

“ DON’T! ” Cassandra roared. “I’m coming.”

Tristan’s head was bowed when she turned back. She stepped into him and lifted his chin with her finger, whispering, “If we let those humans die for me, how can we possibly claim to be their leaders in our new world? We’d be no better than your father. No better than your brother. Every being on this planet deserves a chance at life, right?”

Tristan’s lips kicked up, despite his obvious anxiety. “You want to lead with me? What makes you think I’m offering you the job?”

She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him fiercely, not giving a damn about their audience. She broke away, placing her hand upon his heart. “Because fuck fate, remember? There’s no one else for either of us. And you can pretend all you want that you’re not totally turned that I’m about to go down there and kick some Koenig ass, but we both know different.” She winked. “So stay close, Birdman.

“You’re not going to want to miss this.”